


A Song By The Sea

by eldritcher



Series: The Song of Sunset, The Second Age [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:32:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erestor doesn't want to go a virgin to his wedding bed. He asks Thranduil for a favour. Yes, that favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song By The Sea

I sighed as I raked my hands through my disheveled hair. A truly glorious episode in the barracks, I mused appreciatively. I felt that lazy afterglow of satiation as I examined the bruises on my wrists. 

“I take it that our Balrog-Slayer was extremely vigorous?” an amused musical voice stirred me out of my dreamy contemplations.

I smiled at my fellow-conspirator. He stood with his back against the door of my private chambers, his black gaze raking me over from head to toe carefully. A smile curled his lips as he took in my general dishabille.

“Not for nothing is he called the magnificent,” I demurred as I tried to reach past him to open the door, “Sadly, I shall have to delay my tale until I take a bath. I stink.”

“I have no interest in hearing the tale of your apparently successful seduction of my best friend,” he shook his head blandly, “I have things of a greater import to discuss, Ernil-nin.”

“Surely, Erestor;” I made a great show of inspecting my torn garments, “They can wait until I am in a better state.”

“Thranduil,” he laughed, his musical voice quite pleasing to my ears, “I did not aid you in this endeavour merely because I wished Glorfindel to shed his inhibitions.”

“I had not dared to assume that,” I said wryly, placing my hand on his slender robe-clad shoulder in a display of affection, “Knowing what I know of you, I suspected baser motives.”

“May I enlighten you as to the baser motives, my prince?” he asked quietly, his eyes boring into mine.

Many call my eyes passionate and penetrating. I guess they have not seen my friend’s eyes. Those black pools are coloured by wisdom, ruthlessness and passion. For all his cold diplomacy and nonchalant attitude, I could sense the passionate fire of Feanor dormant in him. Idly, I wondered what could bring it out.

“Your gaze unnerves me,” he stated plainly, as was his wont.

Yet another characteristic I admire, he does not mask the truth with unnecessary conventions and social mannerisms. Though I was exhausted to the core after my duet with Glorfindel, I could not help my physical responses to his proximity and attraction.

“Tell me about your motives and let me continue onwards to my bath and attire. My father will never let me hear the end of it if he knows what I have been up to. Even you would agree that wantonly seducing a seneschal of the Noldor is no act worthy of a Prince of the true line of Ingwe and Elwe,” I paused, reveling in my eloquence. It was one trait of mine that I admired full-heartedly.

“I beg to differ; I remember the said Prince telling me over the Dorwinion that he sought to bed all the nobles of Lindon’s council so that he could prove the Sindarin superiority above us, the lesser Noldor,” his eyes sparkled with dry amusement, “Gil would not be happy if I revealed that secret, would he?”

“No.” I contended simply.

Of course, I had forgotten that his eloquence and guile far outstripped mine. This was the last time I had anything to do with his plans, I mused forlornly. He looked rather like a hunter waiting for his prey to capitulate. 

Irked by this picture, I asked brusquely, “What do you want?”

He did not reply immediately. Instead, he opened the door and motioned me inside. I obeyed quietly, not at all happy by the strained nervousness that tampered with his usual grace.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked warily, closing the door after him, “I really cannot afford to side with you in the councils. My position is already precarious amongst the Sindar, given my mixed lineage and my reputation of being an avid enjoyer of the charms of the Noldor in the bedchamber.”

“It is nothing that relates to politics, in fact,” he glanced into my eyes uncertainly before turning to pour himself a good measure of the heady wine that stood on my table, “it has more to do with my coming alliance with Gil-Galad.”

“What of it?” I asked cautiously, willing myself not to reveal my part in the whole mess, I blanked my face into polite nonchalance as I continued, “I have no interest in hearing about that alliance. My appreciation of the Noldor does not extend to an appreciation of their high-king.”

“I assure you it has nothing to do with the king,” he said hastily, his eyes imploring me to understand, “It is something private.”

I found myself heading to pour the wine for myself, increasingly alarmed by his abandon of composure.

“You have always been brutally frank with me,” I observed quietly as I walked to the window and inhaled the fetid afternoon air. The sick scent of the flowers sent me back to the comfort of my chair by the fireside. I have always disliked the sweet-smelling flowers of our gardens. I prefer the headier aroma of wildflowers. I perched on the arm of my chair and gulped down my wine.

“Frankness has deserted me.” He stated plainly as he sank into the chair and drew up his legs into a nest on which he placed his chin and closed his eyes.

“It cannot be that bad”, I said reassuringly, “You are not intending to walk out of that alliance, are you?”

Something in my tone made him glance up suspiciously. He asked quietly, “Are you expecting me to?”

“I am not the only one who thinks that you will be wasted on Gil-Galad” I parried easily, though my heart thudded as I grimly recollected my part in this alliance.

“Strangely, Elrond seemed to think so”, he laughed, his eyes shining with good-humour, “Given the mirrored sentiments, should I accuse you of celebrating a decadent night with the Herald of the Noldor?”

“Although I would wish it were true,” I sighed in mock unhappiness, “My vow to my father regarding the point about not pressing my amorous intentions on the untouched prevents me from celebrating the decadent night with fair Elrond.”

“I wished to talk with you about that vow.” Erestor said quickly.

I glanced down at him curious. He sighed before explaining nervously, “My alliance with Gil-Galad. My inexperience. I wish to remedy the second to prepare for the first.”

It would not be false if I were to say that I nearly bolted from the room. The warm wine seeped onto my rug and the twinkle of glass lit up in the firelight as my goblet crashed at my feet. I stared at the debris dumbly for a moment before trying to recover my composure.

“Do you react thusly each time you are propositioned?” His musical voice had a touch of velveteen warmth that tried desperately to mask his vulnerability.

I examined my long fingers thoughtfully before answering the question. Of course, he must have had no other recourse if he had worked up the courage to approach me. We were friends, friends who have sparred and debated passionately, friends who have ridden and swum together. The fact that we were the youngest scions of our respective lines had thrown us together. Then we had discovered more of our common past. Of losing a parent, of the burden of a legacy, of the callousness of our courts…but never once had we crossed the boundaries of easy friendship. He had remained chaste, immersed in his work. I had experimented freely with more souls than I cared to acknowledge. Indeed, one of our favourite pastimes was to maintain a running count of the number of people I had bedded. 

“I have to say that you are taking advantage of my loose morals.” I settled on my tremendous store of sarcasm that formed the cornerstone of my interactions with him.

“I am,” he smiled wanly before trying to rise from the chair, a moment I had anticipated. I blocked him by a steel grip on his wrist. Though he was as strong as I, he relaxed submissively and leant back against the head of the chair. When he raised his eyes to meet my gaze, I could see only warm sincerity, innocence and vulnerability. Gone was his usual detachment and guile. I sighed; I did owe him a frank answer.

“You do know that I have vowed not to touch the chaste”, I said quietly, “And yet you ask that of me.”

“I would not have asked had I anyone else to approach. I might have asked Glorfindel, but he belongs to my sister. And I trust you.” He finished soberly as he picked at the seams of his richly spun robes.

I weighed the matter thoughtfully, all the while gripping his wrist. Desire, yes, I have always desired him. But my concern about its effects on our easy and rewarding friendship far surpassed my thoughts in that line. Lindon was a large city, and I could find excellent partners at a lesser risk. At this juncture, the risk was higher given his upcoming alliance with the high-king. I mused thoughtfully. I had to admit that Erestor and Elrond were the most desirable of the Noldor nobility according to my ranking scheme. But given their indifference to lusty pursuits I had always contented myself with the chaste friendship they gave freely. It was easier that way, not to mingle friendship with baser emotions.

“I know;” he cut into my thoughts, “I should not have asked you. But I merely wished you to know that I would always consider your advice before approaching any other.”

“Perhaps you had someone else in mind if you guessed I would not give in?” I began cautiously, a part of mind was grimly seeing what he was driving at.

“Elrond.” He said quietly.

That did it. I could not let him approach Elrond with this proposal. While asking a friend to tutor one in the ways of the bower is not an alien custom, I had reason enough to believe that Elrond would be the worst option in this case. 

“You would be wasted on him,” I said smiling, “Let me make a proposal.”

He raised an eyebrow warily. I slipped down onto the hearth and knelt before him, trying not to wince as a few glass pieces jabbed my legs.

Giving my most sincere smile, I said fervently, “I wish to do this; I shall be honoured if you grace me.”

His eyes betrayed his shock at my fast change-of-mind. He looked deep into my eyes suspiciously. But he could not discern any hidden motives. Probably he would think that I was jealous of his friendship with Elrond. I did not care. I was determined to prevent the mess that would ensue if he approached Elrond. There were no serious obstacles in my path, except for the vow I had sworn to my father. And I was certain that my dear father would not harangue me if he were to know of the exact situation.

“I think you look too pale. I forbid you to faint when we do it; these activities require both the participants to be awake and active!” I said imperiously. I had to stop his thoughts before they analyzed the motives behind my actions.

He smiled uncertainly before nodding to me. 

“When?” His voice betrayed only the slightest nervousness.

“We shall ride to the seashore, tomorrow night.” I decided impulsively.

 

 

I could barely sleep a wink that night. Visions of his passion-maddened form drove me nearly insane. And there was the thrill of the pleasure being forbidden. If we were caught, not only would I be on the receiving end of my father’s displeasure, but I would have to contend with the high-king’s wrath too. I would need a litany of lies, to cover up our actions the next night. Gil-Galad and Elrond would notice if Erestor did not turn up for the nightly dinner at the king’s table. And my father would notice my disappearance long before that. 

“You are extremely distracted.” Elrond complained as I again drifted into my plans. He peered suspiciously at me and asked, “What are you plotting?”

“I have been plotting to overthrow your king in a bloodless coup.” I muttered irritably as I rose to leave his study. I continued innocently, “I must leave now. I have promised Erestor that I would ride with him tonight. He intends to go to Mithlond to speak with Cirdan.”

Elrond nodded thoughtfully, “Tell him that I will take on his duties should he be late to return. I owe him one for his timely help when the traders from Edhellond arrived. I know Gil-Galad has been busy with the arrangements. I shall tell him of your errand if he asks me at dinner.”

Elrond would be our alibi. I was relieved. He was one soul whose motives nobody would dream of questioning. 

“My father is busy with the negotiations and I shall not be seeing him before my journey, Elrond. If you would tell him too, I would be much obliged.” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster that moment.

Elrond; being the kind, unsuspecting moral-compass he was; nodded his head in acquiescence and smiled back at me.

 

 

“I hope Glorfindel does not take it into his head to follow us to make sure that we are safe,” Erestor said uneasily as we began our ride, “He has often done that when I journey without telling him.”

“I have asked Gildor to manage a drinking duel involving Glorfindel and the king”, I said with more confidence than I actually felt, “I think we shall be fine.”

He nodded and increased the pace of his mount. I followed him, taking care to pull up my hooded cloak to cover my distinctive hair completely. The dim moonlight helped me dreamily contemplate the possibilities enwrapped in the chaste figure of my friend. I had never looked forward so much to a casual coupling before.

 

 

We reached the shore. The torches that adorned Cirdan’s castle were bright spots in the dark night. We dismounted and stared at each other. He cleared his throat and looked away. I pulled down my cloak and shrugged it off my shoulders. The fresh sea-wind invaded my nostrils. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. I have always felt the call, but never more than at that instant. 

“It almost compels me to walk into the water.” He observed quietly.

“I feel the same.” I acknowledged truthfully, “But my loyalty to my father outstrips the call.”

“For me, it is the conviction to do penance for the sins of my father.” His voice was flat and hopeless.

“This is not an excellent way to start our activities,” I admonished him smiling, “Look at the passionate sea, at the voyeuristic stars, at the shy moon peeping out from behind the wispy clouds.”

“I did not know that you were such a poet”, Erestor laughed unrestrainedly, his mirth provoked by my sincere attempt to be romantic. I was irked, but I reflected morosely that my words had at least lightened the atmosphere.

“I did not bed so many by mere virtue of my physical charms!” I protested in rising indignation as his laughter continued.

He collected himself with effort and grinned saying, “Do forgive me, Thranduil. It is just that those words were highly amusing.”

I sniffed in disgust, but let the matter pass. He fell silent as I spread my cloak on the sand. After a moment, he undid his cloak with slightly trembling hands and spread it over mine. Our eyes met and I smiled reassuringly. He nodded, his chin set in determination. We were in our riding clothes; and I could not help noticing his slenderness that was revealed now. Overcome by the vulnerable sincerity that shone in his eyes, I embraced him lightly. As I inhaled the heady scent that was unique to this slender form enveloped in my arms, I could sense the fine trembling in the fingers that clutched my waist. We were of the same height. Our noses bumped most incongruously as I tried to look into his eyes. 

For some reason, this unhinged our reservations and we began laughing. I absently noticed that his eyes lightened when he laughed. The moonlight flecked the dark pools with spots of grey. A most distracting effect.

He frowned at my blatant staring and was about to ask something. But I knew that words would no longer avail us. Boldly, I leant forward unmindful of our bumping noses. He stilled and stiffened reflexively as my lips sought his. I moved my hands in a soothing manner on his ramrod stiff back. He exhaled quietly and relaxed within my grasp. An instant later, he had parted his lips, drawing me in. 

From then onwards, it was primal; wild and unrestrained. I could no longer say with certainty that my friend was present in the passionate creature that drove me mad with desire. His loud groans of pleasure as my fingers kneaded his ribs spurred me into an ecstasy of need. He had shed his inhibitions with that kiss. His fingers roamed over my torso possessively, learning and re-learning the terrain. 

At some moment, I felt confident that I would simply collapse into a desire-maddened bundle. He seemed too uncaring about what happened. His vocabulary had degenerated into mere moans and grunts as he dissolved under my skilful ministrations. I pulled us down onto our spread cloaks on the sand. He barely noticed the change in alignment as he bucked and arched towards me in a desperate attempt to gain friction. I insinuated a deep kiss thoroughly relishing the deep, guttural moan he made.

“DO SOMETHING!” He exclaimed as we broke apart, panting and soaked in sweat.

The words were equal parts frustration, anticipation and deep desire. He was not imploring me as many others had, he was commanding me. I stared fascinated at the picture he made: of the sweat-sodden clothes that clung to him, of the swollen lips, of the dark desire that enflamed his eyes, he glowed like cold marble in the milky moonlight. 

With a snort of impatience at my lack of movement, he half-rose and began undoing the laces of his tunic with his fumbling fingers. I restrained him before he could tear them off, so uncontained was his passion. Truly a Feanorion. I held back his hands with my left hand while I deftly pulled him out of his tunic with the right. My probing grip earlier had left bruises on his torso despite the protection afforded by his tunic. Before I could devour the sight though, he pulled off his leggings and pulled me atop him with his characteristic wiry strength that has been my undoing at many a sparring match. As deeply lost in the haze of passion as he was now, my whispers of caution and restraint were certainly not considered at all. He managed to divest me of my tunic and began tugging at my waistband. I sighed, passion aroused by the sight of him warring with amusement at his impatience. I moved accordingly to aid his movements and soon we were flesh to flesh. 

I would have normally continued my ministrations and worked my partner into a greater state of passion. But now, I feared that I would drive him mad if I tarried any more, so lost was he in lust. Every part of his body writhed to make contact with my broader frame. His eyes had rolled upwards as he arched to my touches. 

I reached across for the mixture that had availed me in many an amorous encounter. As I coated my fingers, he regarded my actions through heavily-lidded eyes. 

“Are you ready?” I asked redundantly, for he was laughing and spreading his legs already.

I felt an unknown emotion frisson within me as I stared down at his blatant posture. If the first-time could elicit such boldness, then I shuddered at the thought of what experience could inspire him to.

“Relax,” I said quietly as I began my cautious forays. He seemed to tense at the beginning. But then he exhaled releasing his tension in that long breath. He watched me intently, often dissolving into base exclamations when my explorations affected him too much. 

The first joining was easier than I had hoped, his relaxed frame proving to be highly flexible. My hungry cravings to satisfy my lust and his passion-induced dissolution into a primal being dissipated all further conversation. This was not as incongruous as our kiss had been, there was no bumping of body parts. He threw back his wrists and dug his fingers into the sand. Knowing the difficulty of maintaining a balance, I dragged his long legs up about my shoulders. He relaxed more despite the increased vulnerability of the new position. 

I marveled at the exquisite picture he made: of long fingers digging into the cool sand, of the arched body that rose to meet me, of the eyes mottled with moonsilver-grey and desire-darkened black. I certainly did hate Gil-Galad, the high-king did not deserve my friend.

 

 

He stood alone, his slender form shielded from the winds by the remains of a tattered cloak. His head was bowed and endless regret emanated from him. 

Cirdan sighed as he approached the solitary watcher. 

“I shall have none of your pity, mariner.” The voice was as musical as it had been when Cirdan had heard it the last time. 

“I merely wished to keep an eye out for the welfare of my son, Lord Maglor.” Cirdan replied with frosty dignity hiding his amazement that his companion recognized him, “I could not sleep knowing that he was here, so far away from my protection. They are engaged in intimate activities that would lower their guard, immersed as they are in their pursuits. I would not want anything befalling my son.”

“My son.” Maglor’s voice was toneless, yet filled with longing and fear.

“I raised him, I am there for him, I care for him.” Cirdan said wearily, “I vowed to your brother that I would never see him brought down by the curse. He is my son. Carnilote abandoned him when he was but a babe. And you took in Elwing’s children and raised them as your own. So you will forgive me when I say that I am a better father to him.”

“Your love for him, your love for any of our line; it spurs from your regard for my brother,” Maglor spat bitterly, “I have not been blind, Cirdan!”

“Let us not quarrel over those lost to us,” Cirdan said quietly as he watched Thranduil and Erestor sink down into the languid, boneless embrace of those who have spent their passion. Their young, supple bodies seemed to glow in the moonlight, their hair contrasting deeply in hues of gold and black.

“You are right.” Maglor’s shoulders slumped in weary defeat. He had lost all that he had lived for, except his pride. 

“Sail now, before it is too late.” Cirdan implored him, profoundly affected by the sorrow that hung about his companion like a dreary cloak.

“I cannot, Artanis might need me.” Maglor sighed as he made to leave, his gaze on the northern dunes.

“Galadriel, how will she need you? She grieves for you as she considers you dead.” Cirdan said quietly.

“She knows I live. And she knows that I live for her. One day, when all that she holds dear is lost to her, she will seek me. I shall not sail till then.”

 

 

I mumbled in contentment as Erestor nuzzled into my neck. This was bliss, a slice of Valinor; I decided dreamily. I wrapped my arms about his form more securely and burrowed into the hollows formed by his prominent collar-bone.

“Mmm, I am very reluctant to end this,” he complained soulfully as he pushed me away.

“We have to get back.” I sighed in accord as I tried to raise myself into a sitting position.

“We certainly should, lest someone from Cirdan’s city find us so in the morning!” He laughed, “But I believe I can use the next one hour in ardent pursuits devoted to learning more about the famed body of the Golden Prince of Greenwood.”

I stared into his twinkling eyes, stunned and disbelieving. He laughed again and deftly rolled from beneath me, twisting so that he had pinned me underneath him. 

“I do look forward to that,” I murmured as I capitulated to his desire-laden black eyes, “After all, as a tutor I cannot afford to leave you half-taught.”

“Precisely.” His word was but half-spoken before I swooped upwards to initiate our dance again.


End file.
